


Reverse Polarity

by DorMarunt



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (by choice), Andres gets a mouthful of cock, Andres' magical dick fixes everything, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Shameless Smut, Tatiana's a BAMF, Those monks are DEAF, Threesome, ridiculous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorMarunt/pseuds/DorMarunt
Summary: “Say it.” He pulled Martin away, anger wrapped in need and frustration as he pleaded with his eyes. “Say it, Martin.”“Fuck me.”Not that. But also that, yes, of course that too. Yes.________Basically how I really wanted "that" kiss scene to play out.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote/Tatiana, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Tatiana
Comments: 19
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, uhh, my mind just really ran away with this, soooo. Smut! 
> 
> Also, velvetyness is now a word, yay~

He didn’t plan for his evening to turn out like this, with his tongue in Martin’s mouth, pinning him against the wall of the chapel, but there they were. Sure, he initiated all of it, maybe curious to see if what Sergio had said was true - could it be true? Martin, his best friend, his trusted companion and partner in crime, could he actually be in love with him? 

So he instigated it. He threw the bait and Martin bit it. Instantly. That much Andres knew would happen. Naturally - for someone like him, at least - the next step was to push him away, to cut deep, to leave a scar. But then Martin just accepted it, when Andres shattered his hopes, _“You’ll think about me, but I won’t think about you.”_ He didn’t put up a fight, despite the hurt in his eyes. 

It wouldn’t stand, Andres would not allow it. 

He felt that he was veering into downright cruel territory to throw in his own love declarations after Martin’s resigned acceptance, but he had to make him speak. He had to make him take it all out, what he was truly feeling. 

“You think that I don’t love you? I feel it too. There’s something between us, something… extraordinary, unique, marvelous. I know love, I’ve been married five times! What I never told you is that none of these women made me feel something even remotely similar to what I have with you; not even close.”

There, a reaction. Martin got up, hands on hips and approached him, just a couple of steps, eyeing him carefully. Hope, anticipation. Maybe it could work, after all. But Andres’ fucked up brain couldn’t wait for things to settle into place without a bit more provocation. Why wait for the apple to fall when you can shake the tree? 

“You and I are soulmates. But only 99 percent, hm? You know; I really like women, a lot. And you like me too much.”

So maybe he was pushing it, sure; but it worked. Martin blossomed under his very eyes, bold, up for the hunt. He approached Andres, one step, two, nothing more; but he knew what he was doing, he definitely knew, and was going for it.

“And what’s that one percent against 99? Unless you’re not brave enough to try it.”

Andres smiled, how perfect, how delicious. He loved an even playing ground. He was challenged so he challenged back. 

“That one percent is a tiny mitochondrion, but it defines my desire.”

He said it, though in that very second he realised it wasn’t true. Not with what was stirring deep within him, growing further when Martin approached him, eyes darting from Andres’ lips to his eyes. 

“Mitochondrion.” He was almost flush with Andres now, eyeing him hungrily, a hint of playful amusement as he raised his chin in provocation. “And where is that desire? Hm? Here?” Andres very much felt where his desire was, and could only smile, trying so hard to refrain himself when Martin traced his fingers down Andres’ temples, gently, slowly, down his cheeks. “Where?” 

His hand moved to caress the hair on the back of his head; so tactile, always hungry to touch, to connect. His voice was mere whispers now. “Don’t worry. _Tranquilo._ Don’t be afraid.”

He wasn’t afraid. Not of Martin, not of what he was feeling; he never was, especially now that Martin was kissing him, confident, finally sincere. There, there it was, his desire, blooming under that kiss, a first contact, a new sensation. 

“Are you a coward? Hm?” Another kiss against his closed lips, and Andres was trying really hard to not respond to the provocation. _‘Coward’_. He’d never been a coward, not even for a second in his entire life, not in the face of any challenge, of the authorities, or even in the face of death itself. 

“Where is it?” Martin pushed further, stealing kisses that Andres tried not to give, again and again until Andres had enough, walking Martin backwards until he hit the wall with a thud, and went in to properly kiss him, to show him he’d meant every word in his confession. They kissed hungrily, holding on to each other for dear life, and Martin moaned so prettily, with no restraints. Finally. But Andres still needed to hear the words. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Martin’s to catch his breath.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it.” _Say that you love me, hijo de puta._ “Just say it.”

But Martin didn’t, not even when Andres made a fist in his hair, pulling his head to the side, leaning in to lick up the exposed skin, tasting salty tears. Tears, how delicious, how decadent, but why wasn’t he saying it when it was all finally out in the open.

“Say it.”

“What about Tatiana?”

Of course he’d ask, why was he surprised; Martin, the formidable mind, the confident leader, all shows of strength and terrifying anger, and it was only with Andres that he transformed like that. It was pure restoration work, to painstakingly remove layers of paint and reveal the art hidden underneath, all raw and exposed and vulnerable. 

“Tatiana,” he said, “already thinks we’re fucking. I told her it wasn’t the case, she asked why, and, to be honest, that did give me a bit of a pause.” The hand in Martin’s hair tugged slightly, making him flinch. “Why _aren’t_ we fucking?”

“That shit earlier, with how you love women so much.”

“But I do love women, and quite a lot. You know that. I know you can hear us when I bring someone home. Sometimes, I _make sure_ you can hear us. You don’t mind, do you? I know you don’t.”

It was a bluff on his part, but judging by the way Martin instantly became just a fraction smaller, looking away, he nailed it. 

“You love it, don’t you? Hearing me fuck them. Hearing them moan, hearing the pleasure I can give them. I bet you imagine it was you on my cock instead, don’t you?” Shivers ran through Martin and Andres can’t help it; he wants to take him, to claim him, right there, right then. 

“Still,” Martin insisted on pretending he still had a bit of control of himself, of the situation. “You like women too much to fuck me, is that it?”

“It seems that I love women just the right amount to really enjoy kissing you. I don’t see why loving women would stop me from enjoying fucking you, too.”

Through the haze of whatever the fuck was going on with himself at the moment, Martin seemed to think, _eh, sure, flawless logic,_ and moved his head to go up for a kiss only to be pulled back again, harder, by the roots of his hair.

“Unless that’s not what you want? See, I can go back to what I was doing; after all, Tatiana is waiting for me and you know how I hate to be rude.”

“You love being rude.”

“But never late, though.”

“Fuck you.”

Andres smiled, cocky, lopsided. He loved this way too much, the power he had, but also how incredibly arousing it was. He was getting hard already, though he tried to angle his body so that Martin wouldn't notice. He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, not yet. Sure, he was a terrible person, but what else was new - except maybe for how much he loved kissing Martin. Unexpected but so welcomed, such a beautiful addition to his already overindulgent, hedonistic life; and he couldn’t wait until he got to fully explore that. But not yet, he decided. Cruelly. 

He finally unclenched his fist and ran his fingers gently along Martin’s scalp, making him screw his eyes tight, and leaned in for another kiss. He was welcomed with enthusiasm, Martin fighting for dominance in the kiss but Andres constantly pushing harder, taking over, making him tremble. Martin was fucking _trembling_ in his arms, just from their kissing, and Andres decided it was the perfect moment.

“I’m going to dinner. Wait for me later, will you?”

Just like that, he broke all contact, turning away quickly to hide the growing bulge in his pants, putting on his coat and hat and walking away slowly, his footsteps echoing through the hallway. Okay, maybe just a little more stinging.

“I love you, Martin. Don’t forget that.”

He was curious, ever since Sergio said it. “ _He is in love with you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how he smiles at every single one of your crazy ideas._ ” Maybe it was a testament of his particular brand of narcissism that he so readily accepted the love and devotion that Martin poured on him, but how could he have been so short-sighted? How long had Martin felt like that? How much had Andres hurt him, while Martin accepted it all? Hiding the pain, smiling, and still, _still_ coming back for more. It can’t have been healthy. It almost surely wasn’t. Maybe Martin was a secret masochist? Andres could work with that, he could very much work with that; but should he really? 

The restaurant that Tatiana picked was lovely, of course. Tatiana was her usual self, all coy smiles and clever comebacks, yet more observant than any detective. The clever girl knew the instant she laid eyes on Andres that something was off. 

“What happened?”

What a good question, what a simple answer.

The very first heist they worked together, they agreed they’d keep no secrets from each other - and, uncharacteristically for a couple of criminals, they kept their word. Maybe it was why they worked so well; no resentments, no bottled anger, everything was out in the open and they always found their way over any roadblocks. Pretty useful both in a life of crime and in a marriage, Andres found. So he told her the truth. 

“Martin and I kissed, and I think I’m going to fuck him tonight.” 

Andres looked at the myriad of emotions that ran through her face as she took in his words. Definitely not typical newlywed conversation, but then again, nothing about them was typical. They were thieves, yet they worked together like the gears of a Patek Philippe, never to be broken, always in perfect sync.

_“Vale.”_

That’s all she said. Lovely Tatiana, beautiful Tatiana, how lucky he was to have found her. 

Andres cut the dinner short right after appetizers, stealing her away, almost dragging her back to the monastery. They fucked as soon as they got to her room, Andres hiking up her dress before the door was even fully closed. 

Tatiana was asleep, looking angelic and peaceful, her legs tangled in the sheets, flashes of pale skin highlighted by the faint moonlight. Gorgeous in all the ways Andres could think of. 

It was past midnight but Andres couldn’t bring himself to even close his eyes. There was a part of his brain - the dirty, awful, shameless part - that didn’t even want him to shower, to wash away the smell of Tatiana, her taste, her juices. But maybe that was just a tad too cruel. So he got up and got a quick shower, _a courtesy clean,_ he thought in the moment and smiled to himself, then put on a robe and a pair of dress pants - no underwear, why make his own life more difficult? - and left for Martin’s room. 

He didn’t knock; he was expected after all, but was surprised to find Martin asleep, in his bed, sat up against the headboard, mouth open and snoring softly. Judging by the book in his lap, he’d fallen asleep while reading, and wasn’t that perfect, he did actually wait for Andres. Or he tried to, at least. Andres walked up to the bed, picked up the book and placed it on the nightstand only to straddle Martin’s lap instead.

Martin started to stir at the first dip of the bed, but was only fully awake when Andres was on his lap, cupping his head and drawing him in a kiss. He didn’t resist it, not for a second, wrapping his arms around Andres’ back pulling him closer. Until he broke the kiss and Andres could see it on his face, the fight between desire and fear. 

“Andres. What is this? What do you want?”

“I thought it was clear, _cariño_ . I want you.”  
  
“Andres, don’t- Don’t play with me. Why now?”

“Because, _mi amor,_ ” he punctuated, “because life is short. Short enough for everyone, but my wick is almost burned out. Three years, Martin. _Three years_ and then it’s all over. I have three years to enjoy life and I plan to waste no time on being shy or hesitant with what I want. No reason to miss out.”

“I am not here for your enjoyment.”

“I know you aren’t. But I want this. And I know you want it too.”

“You are very confident in what you think I want, aren’t you?”

“And you’re very bratty for someone who wants to get fucked,”

“Like you don’t want that as well. You’re here, in my room. In my arms, in my lap. You want this too.”

“I mean, I already came once tonight, you know I can always go back to Tatiana and have her again. And again. You know, she complains way less than you do.”

Ah, there. The reaction he was hoping for - shock, anger, a hint of revulsion too. Martin clearly didn’t expect that Andres would come to him right after having slept with his wife. His wife, a concept held in such high regard that it sometimes crumbles under the weight of all expectations and becomes a prison. Not for Andres, though, he knew what he wanted, how much he would take, and had no qualms about getting out when he felt it was time.

“You are sick, Andres, you know that? How can you do this to Tatiana, to _your wife_?”

“Please Martin, if you keep talking about Tatiana I’m going to start to wonder. Should I go ask her to join us? I honestly don’t think she’d mind.”

Martin seemed furious and it really wasn’t how Andres planned this night. 

“She knows. She’s alright with it. We have a more… _complex_ relationship, Tatiana and I. We have her blessing, is that what you want to hear?”

It seemed like it was, because Martin found Andres’ mouth once more, eyes screwed shut, keeping Andres captive in the kiss as though he was afraid he’d flee. Not that he would, Andres was more than game with how things were turning out. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned on what he wanted to do - yes, _him_ , the planner, the chess player, he had no idea where the night would take them, and it was liberating. He remembered Martin in the chapel, how he approached him, slowly, predatorily almost, trying to prove to him that all that bullshit with his oh, too straight mitochondrion was just an excuse. Fear of the unknown. One last defense just begging to be torn down. Andres loved that side of Martin, the confident side, when he was on the prowl, when he took what he wanted. Maybe he should encourage that, let Martin lead them. Let him _take_ like he knew he wanted to.

That’s why he didn’t fight it when Martin pushed the robe off Andres’ shoulders, forcing him to get up and shift his weight from where he’d sat on corners of the cloth, and pushing him off once his footing was unsteady. Andres fell on his back, laying sideways on the bed, his feet on the floor, and it was Martin who straddled him now, steadying himself at the last second before falling off the soft edge off the mattress. The bed was too soft, too narrow, and Andres wondered briefly if he should suggest moving to the large bed in the chapel, the one where Tatiana refused to fuck, saying she felt too exposed. But he wanted that, he wanted them to be exposed, to shine a light to all of Martin’s hidden fears, desires, hopes. 

“This bed isn’t really made for two,” Martin echoed his own thoughts, “but I’m sure we can make it work.” Martin sat on his haunches, looking down at Andres, lower lip caught between his teeth. A smile on the corner of his mouth, and he got up and off the bed. Andres wanted to ask, to know, maybe a thin string of something - _could it be fear?_ \- tightening in his gut, curious at what was on the menu. No, he wouldn’t ask, he daren’t ask; Martin needed to be in charge of this, he needed to lead. And, by the time morning rolled around, Andres needed to hear it, to hear Martin say that he loved him back. Not that he didn’t know it was true; of course he knew, now more than ever. But Martin had to say it, to make it real to himself too by getting it out. 

_Llevas años, dando vuelta, con el bicho dentro. Creo que ya va siendo hora de que lo saques._

Martin seemed uninterested in talking, though. He knelt by the bed, smiling, all provocation and promise as he undid Andres’ pants, raising a brow once he noticed the lack of underwear. Then he paused, looking at Andres sitting up on his elbows, watching him, lips parted. Blood pumped in spurts, making his cock harder, straining uncomfortably in his pants, until Martin pulled at the hem, working them lower when Andres lifted his hips helpfully. This he knew, he expected, he wanted. Anticipation, a promise made to Sergio not long ago - _a masterful fellatio from a man with great skill,_ he said. What a beautiful offer, what a fool his brother was to refuse. 

His cock gave another twitch, fattening further as Martin took it in his hands, gripping lightly to feel the blood pulse against his palm. 

“There it is, your desire.”

What a fucking tease; as if that was the first hint that he wanted him, as if the kiss in the chapel hadn’t buried all that nonsense about his fucking mitochondrion. 

“I have to say, what with your lovely chest hair,” Martin added, tightening the grip of his fist just a tad, “I was expecting something different, but I really enjoy the clean look too.”

Andres rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh. Yeah, he’d caught the tail end of the 70s bushy pubes aesthetic but trimming was definitely his way to go. Keeping things nice and clean seemed only polite, not just hygienic. 

Finally, blessedly, Martin dipped his head and wrapped his lips around his cock, and this time Andres’ eyes rolled back of their own accord. He couldn’t say why he expected it to feel different with a man doing it, but so far it wasn’t, and that was fantastic. Except it became different soon enough; Martin proved to be fluent in all the ways his body spoke, shifting attention from his balls once his lapping tongue elicited no response - not his thing, despite some ladies’ obsession with playing with them - focusing instead on circling the mushroomy head with his tongue, sucking at the tip, licking his lips at what could only have been a drop of precum. 

Of course it would be different coming from a man; Martin knew exactly how to move his hand, how hard to suck, how deep to take him. Martin wrapped his arms around his thighs, keeping him still, dragging him further off the bed and enveloped him deeper, slowly, until the head of his cock hit the back of Martin’s throat, and he hummed slightly before gagging and withdrawing with a gasp and a small laugh. He loved it, maybe just as much as Andres did, and he went right back, taking him in completely until Andres could feel his nose buried against his skin. Skill, enthusiasm, and the feelings behind it too; Andres felt like he was dissolving under the sensations. It was a lot and obviously not enough. He’d already come once that night, he knew he couldn't come just from a blowjob; not to mention that he didn’t want that, he wanted to experience as much as Martin would let him. And he had a feeling Martin was open to more, much more. He put his hand on the back of Martin’s head, working his voice before he could get out more than a croak.

“I want you.”  
  
Fuck, that sounded really tentative, didn’t it? What he meant was, _I want to fuck you, let me fuck you, please ride me,_ but his brain betrayed him. He chalked it up to his desire to let Martin lead, yeah, that must be it, Martin was in charge here. 

“How do you want me?” Martin asked, but before Andres could get out what he really wanted to say, Martin extricated himself from under Andres’ thighs, forcing him to catch himself against the floor before he fell off the bed completely. A drawer opening, shuffling; Martin then got up, cursed and circled the bed to reach the other night stand. Andres pushed himself back on the bed, tilted his head back to look at Martin, who had finally found what he was looking for - condoms and lube, of course. He dropped them on the bed by Andres’ head and started to undo the buttons of his shirt, still smiling like a man with a plan. A dirty, filthy plan by the looks of it. 

“I think I know what you have in mind, but what if we tried something else?” 

Something else, sure, of course. Yes. 

“What if I fucked you instead?” Martin said, as he sat on the bed by Andres’ head, facing the other way and taking off his pants. 

And well, that wasn’t exactly something Andres had thought about, not seriously, and didn’t know what to feel about it. Without giving him much time to think, Martin, now naked in all his splendor, straddled the bed, straddled Andres the wrong way around and dipped back to engulf his cock in his mouth. This gave Andres a faceful of Martin’s cock, hanging heavy just above his face, and the most obscene view of his ass. 

If that wasn’t the best reminder that he was with a man, nothing was. A man, all the correct anatomy, familiar of course but still new, and maybe it should have elicited another reaction than the one it did, because, without much thought, Andres wrapped his arms around Martin’s thighs and moved him back to take his cock in his mouth. Not a stranger to the concept, to the position, but there was still a definite newness to the whole ‘putting his mouth on another man’s cock’. 

It felt different than a woman, of fucking course; yet he couldn’t stop his brain from comparing the new to the familiar. Everything was harder, drier, but equally responsive, with a pleasant velvetyness to it. His fingers brushed against faint fuzz on the top of Martin’s thighs, something new but strangely pleasant to the touch. And then Martin moaned around his cock and gave the tiniest twitch of his hips and Andres choked, retching desperately and pushing Martin off. That wouldn’t work, but he remembered something, something useful from when it was him on the other side of some mouth, and snaked one hand back to grip at Martin’s cock, to give himself some control, a buffer. _There, that was better,_ he thought as he put his mouth on Martin’s cock again - Martin’s, his best friend’s, a man, the man whose cock he was currently trying not to choke on. 

Martin was a pro at this, obviously, and no matter how hard he tried Andres could not match the rhythm, the technique, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He was messy, choking way more than he thought he would, wondering how to keep his fucking teeth out of the equation - and failing way more than he expected he would - and his jaw positively _burned_ , but he loved it. He loved the sounds he got out of Martin, he faint thrusts he fought so hard to restrain, the way he sometimes took his cock out just to rest his head on Andres’ thighs to moan and whisper encouraging _oh fuck_ s and _just like that, yeah._

He watched in wonder how Martin’s balls tightened, his thighs started to clench; he knew what was coming and he quickly scrambled to wrap his other hand around Martin’s buttocks, to keep him in place. Martin did try to pull away, he let Andres’ cock slip out of his mouth to warn him, “I’m going to come, just--” but Andres used all of the remaining strength in his shaking arms to hold him down, to swallow him deeper, closing his eyes just so he could enjoy it even more. He tasted the first bitter spurt against the back of his throat before he heard Martin’s grunt, he felt the cock in his mouth pulse with each subsequent wave of slickness that was flooding his mouth. It was exquisite; and he found himself moaning deeply then choke and retch as Martin gave a last deep thrust. As soon as Martin withdrew his spent cock, Andres coughed and sputtered some of the come against his thighs. Messy. Dirty, like the best sex tended to be.

So that’s what it was like. That’s what it was like to bring your best friend to orgasm. To suck cock. _Definitely stop using ‘cocksucker’_ as an insult, Andres thought; it was art, it was magic. 

“Fuck.” 

That’s all Martin had to say, frozen in place above Andres, still panting and trying to catch his breath. 

When Martin regained enough strength to move, to unmount his face, Andres regretted losing that enticingly obscene sight of Martin’s thick cock, how his arms framed that gorgeous ass - how come he never noticed what a fantastic ass Martin had? Well he knew now, and hoped dearly, with every fiber in his overly-sensitised body, that Martin would let him fuck it. 

Not that he would last long enough to enjoy it properly, not when Martin scrambled, burying his hands on that awful, too soft mattress to lie back on top of Andres, capturing his lips with his own, his tongue seeking entrance as if hungry to taste himself. He definitely loved Martin, and it wasn’t just the post-orgasmic haze in his brain tricking him; he loved him in more ways than he thought he could. 

He still needed to hear it said back, though.

“Say it.” He pulled Martin away, anger wrapped in need and frustration as he pleaded with his eyes. “Say it, Martin.”

“Fuck me.”

Not that. But also that, yes, of course that too. Yes.

Martin felt blindly around the sheets until he found the row of condoms, pulling himself up to rip one and toss the others, ripping a corner of the packet and moving to roll it on Andres’ cock, hands fumbling as if there was no time left. Andres handed him the lube once Martin started to look for it on the bed, and as soon as he took it he poured some on Andres’ cock, using the rest to coat his fingers. He was shaking, they were both shaking and it wasn’t the chill in the room cooling their sweat drenched bodies, it was sheer anticipation, need. It was years of pent up lust bursting all dams, crashing out once it was no longer restrained. Martin worked himself open briefly, then wiped his hand on the sheet, getting some on Andres’ robe where it had been discarded and caught under his body on the bed. 

There, finally, fucking finally, Martin got Andres’ cock and guided it to his hole, stopping for just one second to look at Andres and smile. 

“I love you, Andres.”

And then he sank down, slowly, eyes screwing shut at the tight breach, and Andres froze. He’d said it. He’d said it at the best possible time. At the worst possible time too, when Andres’ mind was already overwhelmed, his body too, and he was certainly, absolutely one hundred percent not going to last. When Martin was finally flush with his hips, enveloping him, all warmth and pressure and w _as that his heartbeat that Andres felt around his cock?_ Andres started to thrust. Instinct, it was all he was reduced to now, pure, raw instinct and thank fuck it took over because he couldn’t make one conscious decision if his life depended on it. Martin crouched down, resting his weight on his arms but Andres pulled him deeper, pressing him against his sweaty chest, holding him tightly as he thrust in, hips snapping in an uneven rhythm. 

He was right, he didn’t last long, it was mere minutes and he'd be embarrassed if he had enough brainpower to feel anything other than his impending orgasm. He grabbed Martin’s face just when it hit him, toes curling as he buried himself deeper, and he tried to keep his eyes open throughout, as if to share the wave of _everything_ that washed over him, starting deep in his balls but spreading faster, wider, finding its way into the center of his heart. 

So there. He’d fucked his best friend. His best friend whom he loved and who loved him back, unequivocally. Carnally, now.

After a quick shower - he wasn’t able to do much in terms of cleaning, even after his knees stopped shaking - Andres decided to stay the night. It would be uncomfortable in that bed but he didn’t mind; he spooned Martin, a mere ragdoll who refused to move from the bed to clean himself, and they fell asleep almost as soon as the lights were off.

When Andres woke, the sun was well up, faint Gregorian chants breaching the windows, but Martin was still asleep. He placed a kiss on his shoulder, causing him to stir and eventually wake up, turning to him with sleep still in his eyes.

“I have to go, I need my Retroxil shot. See you at breakfast?” Martin looked half broken, but Andres fixed that with a kiss. “I love you.”

And with that, he put on his crumpled, dirty robe, pulled up his pants and left.

Tatiana wasn’t in her room nor in the chapel, but Andres saw her lounging in the small courtyard, red hair peeking from under a wide brimmed sun hat. He’d almost forgotten how gorgeous she was.

He was in the hallway when he heard her greet Martin and he decided to lag behind, to give them a moment. Perversely, he wanted to hear how that particular talk would turn out.

“So,” Tatiana started, “I take it Andres stayed the night?”

“Tatiana, I’m- I’m so sorry.” 

She laughed. She _laughed_ , a delightful, friendly laughter, as if trying to put Martin’s mind at ease.

“Martin. I know you love Andres. I’ve seen how you look at him; everyone knows. And Andres loves you too. I know he has enough love in him for us both, and I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of what you two have. Of what you’ve had for so long.”

And yet, not a word from Martin. Understandable, Andres thought, it wasn’t exactly familiar grounds they were treading. It was time, though, to join them, so he stepped out and greeted them both. 

“Good morning, _cariños_. What’s for breakfast?”


	2. Perverse Polarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Sure, he was happy. Finally, incredulously, happy. But there was something else in play. Someone else. There had always been someone else between Andrés and him, the someone that had always gotten the things Andrés couldn’t give him, and Martín had learned to accept it. But now he was getting those things as well, yet that someone else still remained in the picture. 
> 
> -or-
> 
> [Martín] I'm a simple man, if Andrés asks me to bed, I go.
> 
> -or-
> 
> Andres' magical dick fixes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hesitated before calling this chapter “Perverse Polarity” because it was initially just a typo. I fought long and hard with myself on whether to keep it, telling myself that _I am simply not that kind of person_ but lol, who am I kidding, I am precisely that kind of person

_ “Can you come by my room later? We want to ask you something.” _

Tatiana’s words echoed in Martín’s head as he took what seemed to be the longest shower of his life. He almost didn’t want to get out, dreading what she might have meant by that invitation. 

It had been just days after that night with Andrés, that mortifying, surprising night, and Andrés showed no change in how he spoke to Martín, how they casually touched. Everything seemed… fine? Except that, every once in a while, there was this something, this little insidious grain of doubt that found its way inside Martín’s brain. What if he’d ruined everything?

That’s why Martín had remained quiet about his feelings for so long; he’d become accustomed, content even, with what they had. He relished in Andrés’ attention, the effortlessness of their understanding. Plus, if he never confessed, he could never be rejected.

But he did, he confessed. His feelings had been dragged out of him with kisses, with a mirroring confession that he never dared to expect from Andrés. And everything was fine. Better than fine, really, as Martín now got to enjoy being kissed passionately at the most unexpected of times.  Every intimate display of affection Andrés displayed still surprised Martín, who kept expecting to wake up, or at least waited for _ something _ to go terribly wrong. It would break his heart to lose this, now that he knew how intoxicating it was to  _ have _ Andrés. This was too good to be true. If the last decade was any indication, that kind of happiness just wasn’t in the cards for him.

That’s why he feared the upcoming talk.  Sure, he was happy. Finally, incredulously, happy. But there was something else in play. Someone else. There had always been someone else between Andrés and him, the someone that had always gotten the things Andrés couldn’t give him, and Martín had learned to accept it. But now he was getting those things as well, yet that someone else still remained in the picture. Not that he wanted Tatiana gone; she was clearly in love with Andrés. She was good to Martín, too. Too good for what he felt he was doing to her.

Why was Tatiana so accommodating to, basically, her husband’s shameless, open infidelity? Because she was certainly accommodating to this new state of things, or at least that’s what she kept saying, assuring Martín with both words and actions. 

That morning,  _ the morning after, _ Tatiana had told him that Andrés had enough love in him for the both of them, and maybe Martín didn’t doubt that. After all, their relationship had never wavered, whoever happened to be in Andrés’ bed at the time. 

But honestly. Martín was fucking her husband. Days after their wedding.

Who did that?

(Martín did, obviously; and as much as he was willing to say that he regretted it, he didn’t. Not really.)

So. What could Tatiana possibly want, if not to tell him to leave. 

Obviously.

  
  


Martín felt his stomach drop when he pushed the door to Tatiana's room, the sight rendering him speechless, petrified. Broken in ways that not even Andrés managed to break him. There on the bed was Tatiana, straddling Andrés, one strap of her dress exposing a pale shoulder. He felt instantly sick; of course she’d want to show Martín that Andrés was hers, that he’d overstepped. Until she turned around, smiling warmly. 

“Martín! Apologies, we’ve started without you. Do join us?” 

And really, what the fuck.

His first instinct was to turn on his heels and walk back to his room, to upend the first bottle of alcohol he could lay his hands on and then maybe to fly back to Buenos Aires.

But Andrés.  _ Andrés _ . He propped himself on one elbow, looking at Martín. With more than a hint of amusement, he turned to Tatiana.

“I think you broke him. I told you that we should have waited; that he may need to be courted first.” Then, back to Martín. “Isn’t that so? You need some gentle - or, alright, maybe not-so-gentle prodding - before you admit that you’re game.”

Andrés gave Tatiana a small nod, and she gracefully gathered her flowy dress, got out of his lap and sat on the bed, looking at him with a playful look. Then he got up, pants unzipped and hanging loosely around his hips, and he approached Martín, who fought every urge not to take a few steps back. 

The room seemed to become hotter, air stuffier, and Martín slicked his hair back, wiping a few beads of sweat that had somehow appeared below his hairline. 

“Let us take care of you?”

It was a question, but it felt more like a command. Fight or flight, and one thousand times over, Martín wanted to choose flight. To run away, even though the question, phrased like that, it didn’t sound like an awful proposition. Take care of him, Andrés and Tatiana. Andrés, sure, but the thought of Tatiana, his fucking wife, a _ woman _ , threw him into a headspin. 

“I promise I won’t bite,” came a pleasant voice from the bed.

Suffocating, that’s how everything was. Deer in the headlights. Caught unawares; he felt the urge to raise a hand and go, _ I need an adult _ . 

“Um.” 

How articulate, such well-crafted words his scrambled brain provided. 

“Is that a no?” Andrés approached him until he was close, too close. “Because you can say no. We’d both hate it if you did, sure; but we wouldn’t want to make you feel in any way…  _ uncomfortable. _ ”

Really. Because he was uncomfortable as fuck.

“Umm,” he repeated. “Tatiana.” 

Andrés shook his head, huffing more than a little annoyed.

“Martín. Please don’t tell me you still worry about what Tatiana has to say about this. It was her idea, for god’s sake! And she's right here, beckoning you into our bed, between her milky thighs.”

“No, I mean.” There had to be a diplomatic way to put things. “Surely you’ve noticed that I’m gay, right? And while Tatiana-” Martín leaned over just a bit, meeting her gaze, addressing her, ”While I’m sure you have the loveliest, milkiest of thighs, I’m not particularly interested in what’s between them. No offense, I’m sure everything,” he gestured vague circles towards her, “is rather exquisite, but, um.” He shrugged. “It’s not exactly my poison of choice, if I can put it like that.”

He obviously could, because he just did; he managed to string one of the most awkward sentences in the history of spoken word to illustrate his precise level of gayness. Which was 'quite'.

Andrés pondered for a few seconds. "Fair enough. I'm sure we can find ways around that, can't we love?"

Tatiana gave a half-shrug, half-nod. Tatiana, the beautiful, benevolent goddess. The beautiful, benevolent and unexpectedly  _ kinky _ goddess.

“So.” Andrés resumed, “Join us?”

His analytical mind, the mind of an engineer, it immediately wanted to go over the logistics of such an endeavor, but then his cock - the very one that Andrés had just laid his palm against through his clothes, that one - was suddenly willing to just roll with anything as long as Andrés was involved. Which he was; very much so, he made it quite evident as he worked the zipper of Martín’s pants.

  
  


All things considered, it was less weird than he’d anticipated it to be, sharing a bed with his friend who was currently fucking his wife. There were loads of things to be considered, sure, but Martín knew that his ability for rational thought had significantly diminished early on, when Andrés pushed him against the door and sucked him off right there. He tried to keep his eyes closed then, feeling almost shy under Tatiana’s gaze, a small pang of guilt still muddled in the other sensations. But his blood was starting to send little signals to his brain again, and now he felt maybe a little bit stupid standing there in just his shirt and his erection while the bed moved under the three of them with the couple’s movements. The room had, somehow, gotten even hotter, so Martín began to undo the buttons of his shirt. After all, everyone else was already naked. 

Andrés leaned over to kiss Tatiana’s open mouth, whispering _ ‘te quiero, pelirroja’,  _ in her ear, but Martín was close enough to hear; he was way too close for such an intimate moment, and for a second he felt like he was intruding. 

“Let’s show Martín what he’s missing out on, shall we?”

Andrés got up on his haunches, gathering her legs to rest against his chest, framing that thatch of silver hair. He placed a kiss against her calf, drawing himself out almost completely and making Tatiana’s eyebrows rise, her mouth open in a silent  _ o  _ as soon as he thrust back in. At first, his hands roamed up and down her things, eventually resting on her hips, raising them just a little so he could thrust as he really meant to. 

Martín was remaining valiantly hard, becoming oddly mesmerized by how Tatiana’s small breasts bounced with Andrés’ movements. And sure, a woman’s moans never did anything for Martín, but the sounds that Andrés made? Definitely a whole new thing. Definitely not quiet, these two, and Martín thought back to the times when he was just a couple of walls away, merely imagining what they must have looked like. So he watched them freely now, following a bead of sweat rolling down Andrés’ temple and onto his chest, resting for a moment before rolling lower. He looked at where they were joined, at Andrés’ cock and how it slipped in and out, glistening with slick, and Martín almost caught himself thinking that her lips looked really pretty wrapped around Andrés’ cock like that. 

Andrés turned just in time to catch him staring, so he gave a wicked smile then reached for Martín, drawing him into a kiss of their own. It was all tongue, wet, and the angle could have been better, but Martín leaned deeper in, grabbing the back of Andrés’ head with both hands as if unwilling to let him go. For a second, a blissful second, Martín felt like they were the only two people in the world, despite the constant motion of Andrés’ hips, a reminder that there was someone else there, between them. 

Someone who was also very much enjoying themselves, as her voice changed register, prompting Andrés to break the kiss and focus on her once more. Martín kept a hand against the nape of Andrés’ neck but he followed his gaze and saw, he saw the absolute wonder in Tatiana’s eyes as she gave a high-pitched moan and came.

Definitely the first time he’d seen this, Martín; and what a sight it was - her thighs tightened and then started to shake, she drew her shoulders up and arched off the bed beautifully. She kept making these small, almost alarmed moans, and she kept coming, her whole body shivering, and Andrés slowed down, almost to a halt. A kiss, he bent down to capture her lips, breaking away from Martín’s touch, still pumping lazily for a few breaths, and Tatiana seemed sated. Clearly, Andrés knew something; how could he not, because he picked up the pace once more, burying his head against her chest and kissing his way across one breast. A small, barely heard moan, and the tremors overtook her once again, and Martín, he couldn’t really understand it but watched in wonder as she was undoubtedly coming again. 

“She’s fantastic, isn’t she?” Andrés asked, his penchant to talk about his wife as if she wasn’t in the room still a little grating, but Martín nodded. He was maybe a little jealous that his body wasn’t able to pull that, because, frankly, it seemed fantastic.

“Two?” Andrés asked, as if they were keeping score. She nodded. 

“Good.” Then, he turned to Martín, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Her record is six in one night.” And really, what could Martín say to that, outside a sincere ‘bravo!’ that seemed a little out of place in context. “Seriously Martín, you’re missing out; a woman’s body is a thing of wonder.”

And yeah, it certainly was, but he was perfectly content drawing his wonder from Andrés’ body. 

He must have been pretty obvious in his line of thinking because Andrés withdrew his still hard cock, tossing the condom with uncharacteristic carelessness to the floor, focusing on Martín for the second time that night. 

“Now, this isn’t how I thought the evening would play out,” and Martín had to agree, “because what I thought was that both Tatiana and I would get to suck that gorgeous dick of yours but now I’m left with all the work.”

“Work, hm?” Martín was emboldened. “Well, practice makes perfect.”

“Doesn’t it.”

Andrés was, as was to be expected, a very quick learner when it came to sucking cock. Martín chose to focus on that, on what Andrés was doing to him, than on Tatiana, who was lounging right beside them, enjoying the view. Once, Andrés took Martín’s cock out of his mouth and leaned over to kiss Tatiana, and Martín just about died, brain overwhelmed with a sensation he could not place.

When Andrés sat on his heels, rolling on the condom that his wife gallantly offered when asked, he noticed that Tatiana was looking at Andrés with the exact same love and lust-filled eyes that he himself did, and he felt a new kinship towards her. They both loved Andrés, and yes, Andrés had enough love in him for the both of them. It would have been quite fucked up if it wasn’t for how sincere their feelings were, and that made it less perverted and more verging on the beautiful.

When Andrés pushed himself in, plastered to Martín’ back, he felt like the bed was melting under his knees. He could only let his head slump back, resting against Andrés’ neck, one hand against his cheek while the other grabbed his thigh, urging him deeper. 

It felt like flying, like falling, the way Andrés tilted his body forward just a little, holding him in place with an arm around his chest. Martín closed his eyes and then there was nothing, nothing but the way Andrés was fucking him. His legs felt like giving in, already, but falling forward on his hands only managed to change the angle, making him almost scream with the sudden extra stimulation. Andrés slowed his movements, guiding Martín’s up chin into an awkward kiss, continuing to fuck him like that, slow, breathing close to his ear. 

“I love you Martín.” 

He had to say it; he just had to, didn’t he? As if he wasn’t already about to burst out of his skin; Andrés had to say it, that fucker. It was getting overwhelming, and Martín didn’t want it to end so soon, feeling the heat already begin to pool in his gut. 

“I want you to come for me, can you do that?”

_ In a fraction of a second, _ Martín thought but tried not to. His grunts of protest were misinterpreted by Andrés, who stood up, motioning Martín up with him, resuming his punishing pace. It was the opposite of what Martín needed; he wanted it to last.

“Come on, Martín. Come for me.”

Andrés wrapped his hand around Martín’s cock and began to pump, which was a Very Bad Idea. Martín tried to bat his hand away, only to have it caught and twisted around his back. Fuck, that was only making things worse - better? Worse in terms of trying not to come, which Martín tried really really hard to do, thoughts centering on one goal - to last long enough to have Andrés knelt in front of him, mouth wrapped around his cock. To come in his mouth once more. To have him choke on his cock like that first time they fucked. And with that image in mind, Martín came right across the nice sheets and somebody’s - hopefully not Tatiana’s - pillow. 

Oh. Well, Martín didn’t know what he was expecting.

Andrés hummed approving kisses against the back of his neck, and everything was perfect. 

“Get on your back.” Andrés instructed, and Martín was really thankful he didn’t have to exert much effort since his limbs seemed to have checked out a while ago. He lay down carefully, trying to avoid the mess that  _ he’d _ made and saw Tatiana. She was laying on her side, looking somehow more flushed than before, smiling bashfully. 

“Three,” she said to Andrés, and it took Martín way too long to catch up on what she meant. He looked at her in complicit surprise, but forgot all about her the second Andrés pushed back in once more. Over-sensitivity dissipated and Martín was clutching at the sheets before wrapping his arms around Andrés, asking for and instantly receiving a kiss. 

“I love you.” 

He needed to say it more often now, as often as he could since he knew now that saying it wouldn’t ruin everything. 

The words did change something in Andrés, making his hips falter for a few beats. He leaned in for another kiss, lips crashing against teeth, tongue linking against Martín’s. All it took was a couple more thrusts and he was coming, his head tucked under Marin’s chin, panting hotly against his skin even after his hips stopped pumping. 

They lay like that for a couple of seconds, catching their breaths, basking in bliss until Andrés rolled over. And straight onto the damp patch by Martín’s side. He made a disgusted face, and groaned. 

“Aw please don’t tell me that I ended up in the wet spot.”

Nobody said anything.

With an exhausted sigh, Andrés got up. 

“I’m going to take a shower, does anybody want to join me?”

Tatiana shook her head, but Martín felt unable and not very willing either to make any kind of effort. Andrés gave a shrug, then stepped into the adjoining bathroom. As soon as the bathroom door closed, Martín moved closer to Tatiana, who squirmed just a bit to come closer too.

“I’m sorry that we ambushed you like that,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “It was my idea, yes, but I might have- Misjudged things? I blame Andrés here; what with his grand bisexual awakening, he led me to believe that you were um, similarly inclined? I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.”

Martín laughed, sighing deeply before placing his head on her shoulder. “It’s alright, cariño.”  _ Cariño.  _ The word just came out, and it felt so right against his tongue. “It was my pleasure - in more ways than one.” He let his eyes wander across her naked body - he would never be able to get her O face out of his mind now - and wondered briefly how things would have been, were he just a little bit more inclined to enjoy the sight. He didn’t hate how things turned out, though. Martín felt that, unlike Andrés, he didn’t have enough love left in him to share with anybody else. Not in the way that he loved Andrés, anyway. This was nice, this was good. Less possibilities of things going wrong. 

It wasn’t exactly simple, but he was starting to like it.

He placed a kiss on Tatiana’s shoulder, and she placed her head against his. “You know, I could tell even from before Andrés introduced us, from how he spoke about you:  _ Martín, my best friend, my engineer. _ Like you were  _ his _ . And then I met you and saw the way you looked at him, and the way he touched you and it was obvious. I thought you’d never accept me, I thought you’d see me as a threat, but you’ve been nothing but nice. Supportive, even. So thank you, Martín.”

Martín looked at her, incredulous. “You know I really love Andrés, but right now I’m not sure he deserves you. I’m not sure that either of us does.”

She placed a kiss on top of his head, and it feels warm and sincere; Tatiana through and through. 

“Thank you for sharing him with me.” 

Sharing. That’s what it was, they were sharing the privilege to worship at the altar of Andrés, and they both felt grateful for it. 

When Andrés stepped back in the room, he took one look at them - Martín’s head resting against her shoulder, their legs entwined - and he smiled.

“You know, I’m getting really tired of this old place. I think we should finally take that honeymoon.” He turned around to look in the mirror, then, without turning, he added. “Yes, Martín, of course you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought maybe to write some honeymoon hi-jinks? No promises as I have precisely 0 (zero) ideas. 
> 
> I do accept headcanons over on Tumblr though!

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my usual writing "style" (if I have such a thing) but I'm strangely okay with it. Especially since this isn't some deep character study or anything. 
> 
> Also - Martin's first thought when seeing Andres at breakfast was "I've come in that mouth". :)
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr if you want! @DorMarunt, c'est moi!


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